Black Sheep (12 page)

Please, God.
She didn’t dare to speak the words aloud for fear of what she’d do if He didn’t answer.
But she couldn’t stop herself from thinking them. Prayer and faith had been constant
companions all her life. They’d gotten her through Vonnie’s and her mother’s deaths,
helped her through every bad thing she’d ever faced—even the anger she felt toward
her father for abandoning them, wasting his life rotting in jail. For killing a man
in cold blood.

Please, God. Help me.
The words sounded pathetic and small inside her head, too weak to ever reach Him.

But then a miracle happened. As she lay on the floor, facing up to Heaven, tears salty
on her face, a small leathery hand reached through the wall and patted her cheek.
Softly, gently, like she was a baby.

Lena sucked in her breath and froze. Suddenly she wasn’t scared—despite the fact that
here was a wild animal, carrying who knew what kind of diseases from who knew where,
strong enough to rip through the hole in the wall it’d taken her hours to create,
or to maul her, tear her arm off.

But the chimp didn’t rip or tear anything. Instead it caressed, comforted. From beyond
the wall it made a crooning noise, like a mother makes when singing her child to sleep.

God had answered her prayers. Again. Lena slowly raised her own hand to pat the chimp’s.
Then she carefully slid up to a sitting position. The hole in the wall was too small
for her to see the chimp while the chimp had its arm inside. Why not ask the chimp
for help in making it larger?

She held the chimp’s hand as if they were shaking on a deal, stroked its fur with
her other hand so it would know she meant it no harm, and guided it back through the
wall to the outer layer of siding.

“If you guys can tear this off, I’ll take care of the plaster,” she said, molding
the chimp’s fingers around the outside edge of the hole and mimicking a ripping motion.
“Then we can both deal with the wire.” She hoped that once she enlarged the hole,
she’d be able to find where the wire was fastened and tear it out. Maybe even figure
out a way to use it as a weapon?

The chimp reached for her arm again. She redirected it to the wood siding. “If you
want to help, this is the best way. Then we can figure out where we are and get out
of here.” It occurred to her that the chimps must have also been stolen. Who would
keep chimps in the middle of the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina? “We can help each
other.”

The chimp—she decided to call it Smokey—made a cheerful noise and began pounding on
the siding with wild abandon.

“No, no, this way,” Lena said as she pushed her arm as far as it would reach through
the hole and shoved against the corner of the siding. The wood was old and brittle
enough that she was able to break off another chunk, earning her a splinter impaled
in her palm.

Before she could pull her hand back inside, Smokey grabbed it. Held it gently. Lena
tensed, hoping the chimp wouldn’t mistake the blood for dinner. But the chimp made
a soft keening noise as if she felt Lena’s pain.

Lena slid her hand back inside. Smokey’s fingers followed, curling around the edge
of the piece of siding Lena had just splintered. Then the chimp tugged, the rest of
the piece breaking away. She pressed her face against the larger hole, but seemed
frustrated that she still couldn’t get to Lena.

Lena removed the splinter and sucked the blood clean from her palm. “Do it again,
girl,” she urged the chimp. “Go on, pull another one.”

Smokey made a whining noise, wrinkling her snout against the wire that separated them.
But her fingers were curled around the edge of the next piece of siding.

“Just give it a yank. You can do it,” Lena coached.

More out of frustration than following Lena’s direction, the chimp snapped the piece
of siding free. Good enough. At least Lena knew it was possible—as soon as she broke
through the plaster and wire from the inside. And now that the chimp had enlarged
the hole, there was no turning back. As soon as daylight came, her captors would see
it.

Only one chance to get this right. Lena guzzled down an Ensure both for strength and
to use the bottle as a tool, and went to work, hope fueling her efforts like a shot
of adrenaline.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Caitlyn followed Route 19 through Evergreen to where the town’s boundary met the southeastern
border of the Indian reservation. It wasn’t hard to find the VistaView Casino just
across the town limits, on the reservation side of the border—in fact, it would have
been difficult to miss given the sheer wattage of light surrounding the high-rise
resort like a halo.

Bypassing the valet parking with its row of Town Cars and BMWs waiting, she pulled
into a spot in the underground garage. Down here the Subaru looked more at home, parked
between an F-250 with a sagging bumper and a Jeep Cherokee. Vehicles designed for
the whip-snake curves of the lonely mountain roads.

As she carried Eli’s papers back to the trunk to stow them, an armored truck pulled
into the loading dock at the rear of the casino. Two casino guards emerged from the
VistaView rolling handcarts loaded down with bags of coins. The guard from the armored
car company stood by, more concerned about checking his watch than anything. Figures.
Who’d want to steal a couple hundred pounds of quarters?

She grabbed her go-bag and crossed to the elevator bank leading up to the casino.
As soon as the elevator doors whispered shut, the air felt different. It tickled her
nostrils, made her want to breathe deep, leaving her feeling a little giddy.

The elevator took her up two flights to the lobby level. Inside the resort the excited
feeling intensified and she felt suddenly energized. The air left a faint metallic
residue on the back of her tongue, tasted of ozone.

Extra oxygen pumped into the ventilation, she realized. Giving the casino players
a jolt so they’d stay longer at the gaming tables and slots.

The elevators opened onto a large hall filled with rows of slot machines. The lighting
was brighter near the elevators and dimmer at the far end so she could only focus
on the twirling neon banners above the slots along with the players hunched over them.
There was less noise than she expected, a thick burgundy carpet muffling much of it,
allowing her to hear two jackpot bells coming from somewhere inside the labyrinth.

The cynic in her wondered if they had some way of timing the slot wins to coincide
with guests arriving from the elevator. She’d never been inside a casino before, so
she took her time to observe the players as she traversed the maze.

They were older than she’d imagined. Retiree age. Many were Native American—ironic
since the casino was meant to supply them with revenue, not take it away again. Caitlyn
could see none of the glamor Hollywood portrayed casinos with; these people were frowning,
cranking slot handles, and jabbing buttons as if their lives depended on it.

Threading her way past the machines, she made it to the registration desk. Away from
the distraction of the slots, she finally had time to take in the decor. It had a
kitschy, 1980s feel to it, which made sense since the casino was built in 1990, the
year after she and her mom had left Evergreen. Light ropes formed the illusion of
chandeliers overhead. Mirrors reflected the light without amplifying it. Red-and-gold
velvet wallpaper in the same shades as the carpet completed the decor.

She’d always imagined that the VistaView would showcase more of its Native American
heritage, but instead it felt the opposite: all chrome and glass, no wood. Instead
of local handicrafts, the glass display cases were filled with high-end designer clothing
designed to entice shoppers to the stores in the atrium behind the lobby.

Vegas transplanted to the mountains of North Carolina. She could imagine Uncle Jimmy
pitching the project. Why should Nevada have all the money and glamour?

“Can I help you, miss?” the registration clerk asked.

“Yes. There should be a reservation for me. Caitlyn Tierney.”

The clerk, a twenty-something Cherokee wearing a black skirt and blazer with a crisp
white blouse featuring the VistaView monogram on her collar, bent down to her computer.
Caitlyn leaned against the desk, watching a man check in a few stations down. He was
tall, muscled yet lean, wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, black leather jacket, and
sunglasses. Some kind of movie star? With his long, blond hair and scraggly beard,
he reminded her of Viggo Mortensen. Especially the way he looked up at her over the
rims of his glasses, making eye contact with an alpha-male confidence that was designed
to make her want to look away in self-preservation. Like he was too dangerous to look
at safely, especially this up close and personal.

She kept staring. He gave her a small nod and a smile that began at the left-hand
corner of his mouth before making it all the way across, revealing his teeth. As if
he appreciated her daring to face the big bad wolf head-on.

Asshole,
she thought, arching an eyebrow and purposely turning her back on him. Not that she
still couldn’t see him in the mirror behind the desk.

“Oh, Miss Tierney,” the clerk said with sudden respect. “Your uncle said to call him
as soon as you arrive. He’s in with the security chief.”

“Don’t disturb him,” Caitlyn said. All she wanted was a place to throw her stuff while
she began to retrace Lena’s footsteps. Then later, maybe a hot shower before she went
through Eli’s papers.

“He left orders.” The clerk made it sound like she’d rather disobey a federal agent
than Jimmy. Two bellhops appeared from nowhere, one reaching for her bag, the other
standing guard.

“No. Thanks. I’m fine,” she said. No way she was going to let any stranger carry her
bag. It had her laptop and backup piece in it. “I can take that.” She grabbed the
small duffel and swung it over her shoulder. The bellhops stepped back, looked to
the clerk for orders.

“But your uncle,” the clerk protested. “Mr. McSwain said—”

“Just tell me where my room is. I’ll deal with my uncle.” Caitlyn held the bag to
her chest when one of the bellhops edged closer. She stared him down and he backed
off again. The Hollywood-wannabe watched the whole thing; his smug smirk made her
itch to show him her badge and Glock.

“There’s my favorite Ginger, always causing trouble,” a man’s voice said from behind
her.

She’d hoped he’d forgotten the nickname she hated, but that didn’t stop her from turning
around with a smile. “Uncle Jimmy.”

It’d been almost fifteen years since she’d seen him last, but he looked exactly the
way she remembered him. Just tall enough for a good bear hug, slight paunch struggling
to escape from his belt, blond hair neatly trimmed. He, like her mom, dressed as if
every day was Sunday, only now his suit hung perfectly from his knobby shoulders.
Tailored.

He embraced her in a hug that lifted her off her feet for a moment. “How are ya, Ging?
Still shooting first and asking questions later?”

He meant it as a joke, Uncle Jimmy meant everything as a joke, but after what happened
last summer, it hit a little too close to heart. She released him and stepped back,
holding her bag across her chest, a small barrier.

“You look great, Jimmy. The casino business must agree with you.” When she was a kid
her dad always looked upon Jimmy with a touch of scorn as Jimmy turned his attention
to everything from day trading to patent applications to land development. Sean Tierney
often scoffed—out of his wife’s hearing, of course—about Jimmy’s ability to make money
at anything as long as it didn’t involve a day’s hard work.

Jimmy chuckled, his gaze moving across the lobby assessing the take from the gamblers
in sight. “It’s going to kill me in the end, Ging. Always something new to worry about,
from cheaters to corporate theft to the gaming board. But, that’s life.” He waved
away his concerns and planted both his palms on her shoulders. “C’mon, let me show
you around.”

“I’d love to, but I really need—” Before she knew what was happening, Jimmy had slid
her bag from her shoulder, handed it off to a bellhop, retrieved a keycard for her
from the desk clerk, and was escorting her behind the desk through a door marked
PRIVATE.

She looked back, ready to retrieve her bag, but the bellhop was already traversing
the path through the slots to the elevators. At least the Glock 27 wasn’t loaded—it
used the same ammo as her service weapon and she had two clips stashed in her coat
pocket, more secured in her vehicle.

Besides, if you couldn’t trust family, who could you trust? It was clear the employees
held Jimmy in high esteem; they’d never risk his wrath.

As she turned to follow Jimmy, she caught the eye of the hunk in black. Mr. Hollywood
was retrieving not one but three separate keycards. When he caught her staring at
him, he fanned them like a royal flush and winked at her.

Rolling her eyes, she let the door close behind her and hoped her room wasn’t anywhere
near his.

Jimmy led her through hallways lined with administrative offices to a private elevator.
“I checked on that girl you asked about. She never stayed here.” As they rode up to
the second floor, he said, “Your mom called. She’s pretty upset. About you getting
mixed up in all this. After all, Eli Hale is the reason your dad is dead.”

That was Jimmy. Straight shooter—at least he pretended to be. She remembered more
than once as a kid being fooled by his constant smile. There was always a catch with
Jimmy, whether it was the old “pull my finger” routine or mesmerizing her and her
cousin with three-card monte.

“Eli Hale is dead.” The words came out flat, no hint of apology.

“So she said. Said you were caught up in some kind of prison riot.”

“It wasn’t a riot. I wasn’t in any danger.”

The elevator stopped. “Maybe you should try telling that to your mom. She worries,
Caitlyn. When was the last time you visited her? I mean, I understand why you’ve never
come home, here, too many memories, but a daughter should visit her mom every once
in a while.”